


fuckin' tequila

by soldmyscars



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Future, And schmoop, Light D/s undertones, M/M, OOC-ness, drunk boys, this is the dumbest thing i have ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1739723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldmyscars/pseuds/soldmyscars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there's a reason mickey usually sticks to beer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fuckin' tequila

**Author's Note:**

> this is what happens when i let my fingers near a keyboard at four in the gd morning. the quality of the content reflects that. 
> 
> i urge you not to scroll down, really i do.

It all starts when Ian comes over carrying two shots, limes balanced on top, salt shaker in the crook of his elbow. 

Mickey takes one look at him and crosses his arms. "Nope, abso-fucking-lutely not," he says flatly.

Ian's smile falls. "What? Why? It'll be fun!"

"I ain't touchin' that shit," Mickey says, backing up a step when Ian tries to hand him one of the shot glasses. "I told you to get me another beer, not fuckin' tequila."

"Do this with me and then I'll go and get your beer," Ian suggests. "Besides, it's not _shit_. This is top shelf, and tonight it's free. We should take advantage."

"No," Mickey says.

He's been a crab all night, body language radiating _my boyfriend dragged me to this stupid party and I'm not enjoying it_ and shooting down the few people brave enough to approach him and attempt conversation.

Ian is determined to get him to loosen up a bit before the night is over.

"Is it the taste? 'Cause I've seen you drink your cousin's home brew," Ian says. "If you can handle that, you can definitely handle this."

Mickey looks like he's seriously considering picking up one of the lime wedges and squirting it in Ian's eye. (Ian is used to those kinds of looks. Honestly, all they do now is trigger feelings of fondness.) "I never said I couldn't _handle_ it, asswipe."

Ian sighs. He puts the shots and salt shaker down on the bar and steps around Mickey until he's behind him, arms circling him loosely. Mickey doesn't reject his touch, reluctantly allowing it and leaning back into Ian's hold imperceptibly. Ian hides his smile and noses Mickey's temple. "I'm sorry, I just want you to have a good time. You're really tense, baby," Ian murmurs. "I thought it'd help." He shrugs.

Mickey doesn't look at him. He stares ahead, mouth twitching like it sometimes does when he's lost in thought. A minute passes, still without a response, and just when Ian is about to let the issue drop, Mickey curses under his breath. "Christ, okay. _Okay,_ fine," he says. "Let's do it."

Ian grins hugely and picks Mickey up off his feet with the force of his hug, laughing at his surprised yelp and "Put me down, you giant fuck!"

  
~  


An hour and three shots later and Mickey is practically on the floor.

"I had no idea your tolerance was so nonexistent," Ian comments, quickly putting an arm around Mickey's shoulders when he staggers off the bar stool and loses his footing. He's moderately buzzed, himself, at that point where all jokes make him laugh louder than necessary and his face is flushed and splotchy red, but Mickey is _wasted_.

"Fuckin' _tequila,_ " Mickey garbles at him, plastered to his side. He hiccups in Ian's ear, and then giggles like a schoolgirl.

  
~  


When Mickey tries to climb up on a table, Ian hauls him back by the waist to stop him, despite his protests.

"But I wanna..." Mickey trails off, eyeing the table forlornly. He makes a gesture at it with his hands that Ian doesn't understand, but probably isn't a good idea.

Ian ruffles his hair, amused. "You'll thank me later, when none of your bones are broken," he says, "and no videos of you show up on Youtube."

Mickey scowls, and then glares when Ian's hand leaves his hair, so Ian brings it back up and keeps running his fingers through it. "Whatever," Mickey half grumbles, half purrs.

  
~  


Ian ends up giving Mickey a piggyback ride home.

Mickey's latched on to him like a limpet, chin hooked over Ian's shoulder. At one point he cuts Ian's airway off, he's holding on so tight. When Ian coughs at him, Mickey loosens his hold. He pats Ian's face in apology, and gets two fingers in Ian's mouth and one up his nose.

  
~  


They arrive at their apartment in one piece. Ian let's go of Mickey's thighs, expecting him to hop down like a normal person. Instead, Mickey slides down Ian's back like he's made of liquid. His toes touch the floor and he rocks on his heels but doesn't detach, arms moving from around Ian's neck to around his middle, hugging him from behind. He rests his head on Ian, cheek warm between Ian's shoulder blades, and leans almost all of his weight on him. He murmurs something under his breath, but Ian only catches _you_ and _firecrotch_ , and a dreamy sigh.

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me, we're almost inside," Ian tells him. He gets to work unlocking the door. His fingers fumble with the keys, and he has to sift through the set on the keyring, squinting down at them in the dimly lit hallway. 

He feels Mickey head roll, feels the press of Mickey's lips through his t-shirt as he gives the part of Ian nearest him a clumsy kiss. "'Kay," Mickey agrees. His arms tighten around Ian, squeezing him, before he relaxes again. "Mm."

Ian looks down at Mickey's locked forearms, laughing through his nose and spending a few more moments allowing Mickey to use him as a standing body pillow, before he turns the handle and opens the door.

Mickey stumbles against him, clearly not expecting Ian to move forward when he does, and Ian turns around in his embrace and takes Mickey's face in his hands so he can tilt it up and kiss him. Mickey's mouth feels plush, lower lip caught between Ian's, and he makes a small noise that makes Ian smile against him. It's oddly chaste, probably the longest they've ever stayed connected mouth to mouth without any tongue involved. When they part, their foreheads are touching, and Mickey... Mickey smiles up at him, his teeth peeking out. Not even trying to hide.

"Quit being so fucking cute," Ian says.

"Fuck off," Mickey replies, still smiling. "'M not bein' _cute_."

Ian pokes Mickey's cheek, then curves his finger to follow the line of a shallow dimple. "You are." He grins. "And know what else you are? A liar, because you know it." He drops his hand.

Mickey raises his eyebrows. The harsh effect the motion usually carries is ruined when he blinks too slow, eyes heavy. "Maybe you oughta punish me, then, huh?"

Ian laughs. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He pulls away. Mickey let's him, swaying slightly on his feet, but as soon as Ian kicks the open door – momentarily forgotten during their kiss – shut, Mickey tugs him back in by his belt loops. He starts pulling Ian forward as he walks backward. His trail goes crooked immediately, and he almost falls on his ass more than once, but Ian rights him before that can happen, steering him back on track.

"You'll like it too," Mickey promises, voice low. His mouth latches on to Ian's neck, warm suction that makes Ian tilt his head to accommodate. Mickey follows the path up his neck, tongue swirling lazily, until he reaches Ian's jaw. He bites that, and Ian growls at him, playful.

They somehow make it to their bedroom, and when the backs of Mickey's knees hit the mattress, Ian pushes him down and he lands on the sheets with a soft _thwump_.

"Tomorrow," Ian says, looking down at him. "When you can actually remember your own name."

"Yeah?" Mickey returns his gaze with a filthy, sleepy little smile, arms stretching out above his head, shirt riding up to expose his pale belly. "You sayin' you don't wanna fuck me like this?" he slurs. "C'mon, man."

Ian toes off his boots, and then kneels down and pulls Mickey's off too. He does the same thing with his jeans, and then Mickey's. Mickey is a useless lump during the process – he won't even lift his hips, so Ian lifts them for him. After they're both down to their boxers, Ian climbs on the bed. "Who says you deserve to get fucked?" he counters. He lies back on his pillow, eyes glittering in the dark. "If I'm going to punish you, I'm going to do it properly. When we're both sober."

Ian hears Mickey's breath catch, sees his throat bob when he swallows unsteadily, and represses a smirk. "Shit," Mickey mutters.

"Go to sleep," Ian says, pulling the covers over them both and closing his eyes.

He feels Mickey looking at him, but he does as told. The sheets rustle, and Mickey squirms to get comfortable, eventually settling on his stomach. After a minute of silence, his hand creeps up, fingers cautiously wrapping around Ian's bicep. Ian's lips twitch. Without needing to be asked, he moves closer until their heads are on the same pillow. Mickey's nose burrows into his shoulder, and Ian's lips brush against the top of his hair.

Mickey drifts off first, and Ian's almost gone too, right when he hears Mickey say something in his sleep.

"Fuckin'... tequila..."

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry


End file.
